


Of Human Florists and 'Angels'

by LollyHolly99



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Author's vague first aid knowledge, Celestial Harmonies Zine, First Meetings, Florist Crowley (Good Omens), Head Injury, M/M, Meet-Cute, Other, basically love at first sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollyHolly99/pseuds/LollyHolly99
Summary: There was whiteness above him, filling his vision. Pale white, a whole sky of it, everywhere, bright enough that it was almost glowing. And amid the white, there was a figure. A man, kneeling beside him, leaning over him to study his face, concern plastered all over his own. He was round, and soft, both in body and face, with bright blue eyes and short, fluffy, pale blonde hair.Beautiful, was the word that first came to mind. Almost like an..."'ngel...?" he mumbled
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 134
Collections: Celestial Harmonies Issue 1





	Of Human Florists and 'Angels'

**Author's Note:**

> I'm allowed to post this here finally! My piece for the [Celestial Harmonies zine](https://celestialharmonies.webnode.com/past-issues/)!  
> I'd highly recommend checking it out - all the stuff in there is _fantastic_ and it's free!  
> In either case, I hope you enjoy this one! <3

Technically, legally, Anthony wasn't supposed to park his car where he had.

But... he'd only be in the nearby shop for a minute or two while he grabbed the plant pots he was after, and the spot in front of the bookshop next door was the only place he could park it in a reasonable amount of time and a reasonable distance away from his destination. That was how he was justifying it to himself.

The closeness to the former shop was of somewhat particular interest to him. It was pouring with rain today and he didn't care to be walking around in it for too long.

_Hasn't rained all week, had to water the outdoor plants myself all bloody week_ , he complained internally, _and now, the one time I properly head out to do things, it starts tipping it down. Typical. Fucking England._

Anyway, he'd be in and out. Just a minute, less than that, even. There'd be no issues with parking his car there, surely.

* * *

The owner of A.Z. Fell's book shop - Azira Fell, as his shop's name alluded to - had a different opinion.

He hadn't seen the car outside his shop while it was in the process of being parked. He just saw the aftermath, as he walked past the front windows. And there it was, sitting rather illegally outside his shop. Didn't its owner know that double yellow lines exist for a reason?!

He sat by the window, watching, waiting, for the car's driver to come back. He'd be having a word with them when they did. Rather more for their sake than his own - but while he did primarily want to educate the driver so they didn't get into future trouble, he'd prefer not to have any crimes occur on his property.

_How old is that thing anyway?_ he pondered to himself. _That car has to be from at least the thirties. It's in rather good condition, in that case._

And yet, somehow, someone with enough sense to have managed to have kept a car _that_ old in _that_ good of a state still ended up parking said car in such an inappropriate spot.

Azira wondered what kind of person could manage to fit that description, and continued to wait by the window. Until, at last, he came along.

A tall, thin man, with fiery red hair tumbling down to his shoulders, wearing... sunglasses? On a cloudy, rainy day like this?

Well, Azira wasn't here to judge. Not for that, at least.

The man rushed through the rain and back to his car with an armful of plastic plant pots, of all things, and with his free hand, he was fishing in a pocket on his tight trousers for his car key.

After a moment of watching as the man (who was admittedly quite handsome, but that was irrelevant, no matter how the thought stuck out to Azira) battled with his clothing choices and got progressively more soaked, Azira headed outside, grabbing his umbrella - the white one - from the stand by the door as he did.

* * *

Why, why, _why_ did Anthony not think to get his key out before he left the damn shop?!

It hadn't occurred to him, and now here he was, stuck beside his car while he cradled a number of plant pots in the crook of one arm and searched his pockets for his key with the other. His desire to be speedy about it wasn't helping - rather the opposite, in fact, his rushing was only causing his hands to fumble further.

He was going to be soaked by the time he finally got in the old Bentley. Hell, he was already feeling the chill of his dampening shirt against his skin and he'd only just about gotten hold of his key. He felt like _King fucking Arthur_ pulling Excalibur from the stone when he finally got the ridiculous little thing free.

But then came the struggle of getting it in the car. No fancy little fobs to press a button on to open the door when your car's _this_ old. Just the manual approach.

He fumbled with the key and the lock. Some plant pots were dropped. Swears were uttered.

A voice, directed at him - somewhat near, but somewhat distant - went unheard behind the sound of the downpour of rain and his own mumbled curses.

"Fuck's _sake_ ," he hissed.

Then, in his anger, he stomped a foot. His snakeskin-booted foot went down on a grate - a now very wet, very slippery grate...

...and slid straight off it, sending him crashing down to the pavement, his face smacking the bonnet of the car with a loud _thunk_.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir!" Azira called, trying to be heard over the sounds of the rain.

The man didn't hear him, only continuing his attempts to get into his car.

It was almost endearing - his struggles with the exact silly situation he'd created himself, the way his eyebrows nearly disappeared behind his sunglasses with how he was scowling, the occasional brush of his now-soaking hair out of his face to be able to see what he was doing. And it was almost adorable, how he stamped a foot irritatedly, like a child not getting their way.

What was less adorable was the sound his head made upon colliding with his car when he fell.

Azira froze in panic for a moment. That was, to say the very least, _not_ a good noise he'd just heard. He rushed over faster, then, and knelt down beside the man, who was still lying on the floor, his plant pots scattered around him and his shades having cracked upon impact.

"Sir?!" he exclaimed, wrestling with himself as to whether to reach out a gentle hand. "My good fellow, are you alright?"

The man was unresponsive. Unconscious, as far as Azira could tell. He looked around just a little frantically, hoping to find some help. But there was no-one. Well, no-one he felt he could bother - just people rushing to get out of the rain again.

He checked the man's pulse and breathing, as he realised he probably should do - both were perfectly fine, thankfully - and then his head, where it had collided with the car - also fine, save for the bruise already beginning to form.

_Should I call someone?_ he wondered. He discarded the thought, however - he didn't have a mobile phone, just a landline, and he didn't want to risk leaving the man alone in his current state.

Fortunately, it wasn't much longer before the man began to stir, and a groan escaped him. He rubbed at his head with one tentative hand, wincing when he touched the bruised spot there.

"Oh, _thank the lord_ ," Azira sighed, somewhat relieved, when he saw eyes open halfway behind dark, cracked glasses. "Sir? Are you alright?"

* * *

Anthony's vision was foggy when he came to, not long after his little fall. His hearing, too. His whole brain was frazzled, like cotton wool was stuffed in his head. It was unpleasant, and that wasn't even mentioning the dull ache in his head.

The fact that he was flat on the pavement was the first thing that hit him. He could feel the cold rain on the wet floor soaking into his clothes and hair, and the hardness of the concrete beneath him.

"Oh, _thank the lord_ ," he heard. "Sir? Are you alright?"

He forced his eyes open with some effort. The image before him swam around in his vision, then eventually cleared up into something more focused. It was clear, besides the rain drops and cracks on his sunglasses.

There was whiteness above him, filling his vision. Pale white, a whole sky of it, everywhere, bright enough that it was almost glowing. And amid the white, there was a figure. A man, kneeling beside him, leaning over him to study his face, concern plastered all over his own. He was round, and soft, both in body and face, with bright blue eyes and short, fluffy, pale blonde hair.

_Beautiful_ , was the word that first came to mind. _Almost like an..._

"'ngel...?" he mumbled.

The other man blinked at Anthony's half-formed speech. "I... Pardon?"

"I'm..."

Anthony took a second to gather his muddled thoughts. The blanket of pure white above him, the sheer _angelic_ look of the man, his kind eyes, the vague recollection of smacking his head, _hard_ , against his car...

"Y'r an angel..." he muttered simply. The words rolled off his tongue without any consideration for what they were. "...Gorgeous enough to be... 've died and... and gone to Heaven. Took a tumble... 's killed me."

The man blushed. "Oh, my, I... um... is this... are you... oh, I think you might be concussed..."

Anthony looked around groggily as the stranger fretted over himself. Ah, the streets of London were still here. He most definitely was _not_ in Heaven - he could tell that, even as maybe-concussed as he was. The whiteness turned out to be... a stark white umbrella, and the little daylight that was peeking through the clouds shining through it.

"What is it that they do...?" the man uttered to himself, before snapping his fingers with an "Ah!" and turning back to Anthony. "Can you tell me your name, my good man?"

"...Anthony. Anthony Crowley." he answered.

"Good. Can you tell me what the date is?"

" _Fucking_... haven't been keeping track of the calendar lately, no, sorry..."

"That's alright - do you know where you are?"

"Soho... was here for the... the shop over there..."

"And can you tell me who the prime minister is?"

"'s... ugh..." Anthony scrunched his eyes shut, trying to think. "Tory cunt, that's who."

"...Close enough." the man said with a shrug. "Are you feeling alright?"

Anthony took a deep breath, and mentally looked himself over to check. "'m fine, I think. Everything's a bit... spinny, though."

"Spinny?"

He tried to twirl a finger. "Spinny."

"Oh, dear." the man sighed. "Look, let's get you inside. Do you think you can stand?"

"Wh- No, I'm fine, I just need to... drive on home and have a nap-"

"You're in no state to be driving anywhere right now, Anthony, look at you. Come, come, let me help you up."

The man reached for his hand, but Anthony protested, having acquiesced to the idea of not going home, but with his priorities on other things than getting off the floor. "Pots." he said simply.

"Pots?" the man questioned, before looking around and remembering the scattered plant pots. "Ah, right. Just a moment." He gathered up the pots and stacked them together again, then handed them to Anthony, who cradled them in one arm. "There we go. Now, up you get."

Anthony couldn't be sure whether this _angel_ was just strong, or if he was just as twig-skinny as he and his mates liked to joke that he was, or even if he was just delirious, but he suddenly found himself being pulled to his feet with ease, his free arm being draped over the man's shoulders as he carried him to the nearby bookshop's entrance, still holding that umbrella of his over them both.

* * *

"My name is Azira, by the way. Azira Fell. Just in case you were wondering."

"Mmh... Azira...?" Anthony repeated, seemingly testing out the name. "...Yeah, sounds like a name f'r an angel... Gonna keep calling you that, though. Angel."

Azira laughed sheepishly. "If you must, I suppose."

He set Anthony down on the nearest wooden chair he could find, making sure he wasn't at risk of falling off of it before stepping away. Then, he put away his umbrella, and turned back to the other man.

"Stay right there, I'll be back in just a tick - I'm just going to grab some towels for you."

He hoped Anthony would do as he was asked while he rushed upstairs to his flat above the shop, and dug out a number of clean, dry towels for his soaking wet guest. Thankfully, he was still sat in the chair where he had been left, just swaying slightly.

Azira headed into the back room of his shop, and laid down some of the towels on the sofa he kept back there before making his way back to Anthony and helping him stand up again. It was easier this time, and they were soon making their way towards the sofa.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfy, shall we?"

He let Anthony down once they'd reached the back room, and coaxed him into laying down on the sofa.

"There we go. Oh! One more thing, just a moment!"

Azira disappeared off to his flat once more, putting some ice and water in a small plastic bag and wrapping it in a tea towel. When he returned, he gently brushed Anthony's hair aside to find his bruised skin.

"Still with me, Anthony?" he asked, to make sure.

Anthony nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah... The spinning's... stopped. Mostly."

"Good to hear." Azira smiled at Anthony, and placed the compress he'd put together atop the bump on his head. "Now, keep this held here, won't you? Should help ease the pain a bit."

Anthony reached up to do as he was instructed. His hand rested on the other man's own for a moment before Azira retracted it.

"Thanks, Angel," Anthony piped up, after a moment of adjusting the compress's position. "For, uh, for this, and... for helping me in. And stuff."

"Ah, think nothing of it, my dear fellow. How could I _not_ help, after that nasty fall?" Azira brushed off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Say, you don't have anywhere to be right now, do you? I'd assumed your rush was to get out of the rain, but... perhaps not?"

"Nah, 's my day off. Shitty day for it, eh?" Anthony responded, gesturing towards the door.

"Quite." Azira chuckled. "Might I ask - your day off from what?"

"This little florist's I run elsewhere in the city. 's what I needed the pots for, actually."

"Oh, how lovely! I shall have to visit sometime."

"Yeah... it'd be nice to see you there- ow, fuck-"

Anthony flinched, apparently having shifted his hand a bit and aggravated the bruise.

"Ah- are you alright there?" Azira asked, a little panicked.

"Nah, yeah, fine, just... touched it wrong."

"Dear, me... does it hurt terribly?"

"Aches a bit. I've had worse, though."

Azira hummed thoughtfully to himself, and looked at the damage done. On top of the injury, he somehow hadn't yet noticed, Anthony's sunglasses were cracked from the fall.

"Oh, look at your poor sunglasses." he tutted. "Those can't be easy to look through with all those cracks in the lenses now. Shall I get them off for y-"

Azira's reaching hand was batted away before he could even get near the shades, with Anthony muttering "Nope, you don't wanna see what's under these."

His head tilted in confusion. "Why not?"

"Hmmh... Weird looking eye condition. Freaks people out sometimes."

"Oh, come, now, they can't be _that_ terrible. Whatever they look like, they'll be fine, I'm sure. In fact, I'm only more interested in seeing these things off of your face now.."

Anthony went quiet, clearly debating with himself whether it was a good idea... and then reached up to take them off by himself with a sigh. "Alright, Angel, don't say I didn't warn you."

When the shades were removed, he blinked a few times, adjusting, then met the other man's gaze with his own. "Go on, then, let's hear it. Scale of one to ten, how weird?"

Azira had never seen eyes like Anthony's before, his pupils looking like they had been slashed, almost like some kind of animal in how they were darn near slitted. His irises were a pale, pale green, practically yellow, a gorgeous contrast to his fiery hair. Were Azira to describe them, even from his first thought upon seeing them... he'd start out by saying they were _beautiful_.

"My word..." he caught himself saying, enraptured by the eyes before him..

"That bad? Yeah, thought so." Anthony sighed.

"Oh, no, you have it all wrong, my dear!" Azira quickly answered. "No, I... sorry, they're just so unique, and so... I might be a bit bold, here, but... well, they're so very pretty, if you don't mind me saying."

Anthony stuttered for a few seconds, trying to form some kind of response, and settled on "That's, uh... that's a new one. Haven't heard that before." when nothing else seemed to come out. He brushed a wet lock of hair from his face awkwardly.

That brought something to Azira's mind, finally, and he gasped.

"I almost forgot! You're entirely soaked through! Oh, I can't possibly send you back out there in those clothes on a good conscience - here, I'll go and get a spare set of clothes for you, and I'll leave you to get changed."

He had worried that the stress of the situation had gotten him into a line-crossing territory of helpfulness, which was only exacerbated when Anthony shook his head and said "No, no, you don't have to do that, it's fine, please, you've done enough."

Azira's fears were lessened, however, when Anthony truly revealed what was on his mind. "Besides, I don't think you'd, uh..." he said, looking Azira up and down. "...have anything in your wardrobe that'd fit my style."

Azira glanced down at himself - at his shirt, waistcoat, and tailored trousers, all tinted in pale cream and beige colours - and then at Anthony's attire - an almost entirely black ensemble consisting of a shirt, jacket, and trousers tight enough that he had trouble even imagining how the other man got them on or off.

He smirked at Anthony. "You'd be surprised at what an old silly like me keeps in his wardrobe. Don't go anywhere, I'll be with you in a jiffy!"

The last time Azira had been up and down the stairs to his flat this often in one day, he thought, had to have been when he first moved in, and was carrying boxes of his things from the moving van up to said flat. It wasn't often that things _happened_ around the bookshop - this was actually a welcome change of pace, even with the worry for the health of the stranger on his sofa on the brain.

Azira's wardrobe was, as Anthony had implied, filled with clothes not dissimilar to what he was currently wearing. However, it didn't take him long to find an old shirt (black), a jumper (also black) and a pair of jeans (not black, but a very dark blue denim - probably 'cool' enough for the other man's aesthetic) that he'd been gifted over the years, all of which were in near-perfect condition from never having been worn. He thanked whatever God might be out there for the coincidence of these gifts from old, inattentive friends and acquaintances having become perfectly handy at present.

Azira headed back downstairs, clothing in hand. It occurred to him, then - was Anthony in a capable enough state to be getting changed? Surely. Hopefully. He _had_ to be, didn't he? It wasn't as if Azira could-

An image implanted itself in Azira's head. A scenario wherein he didn't have to leave the room when he got back to Anthony.

_-help._

Azira felt his face flood with heat - he'd just met the man, for God's sake! It was beyond inappropriate to think that kind of thing, _especially_ with the situation at hand!

His footsteps fell a little faster to keep up with his racing heart and head. He had important things to attend to right now, and damn his newfound _interest_ in Anthony, he couldn't let it get in the way of those things.

"Here you go!" he said in the most overcompensatingly cheery voice he could muster as he entered the back room, only to find...

...Anthony had fallen asleep.

Azira certainly hadn't been expecting that, but today was full of unexpected things, apparently. Recalling what little medical knowledge he had, he let the man rest, since it would be alright to, and put the clothes on a nearby chair, writing out a little note on some paper and placing that atop the clothes so Anthony knew what they were there for.

He supposed, then, that he should tend to the shop while he waited. He'd already forgotten to turn the sign on the door to 'Closed' while he tended to Anthony, he thought he really shouldn't leave the front of the shop unattended for too much longer.

And Anthony snored peacefully in the room behind him.

* * *

Anthony awoke alone in the unfamiliar room, refreshed and far, far less dizzy, but still with a small aching pain in his head.

_Right_ , he said to himself, putting his thoughts in order. _Smacked my head. Bookshop guy - Azira - got me out of the rain. This is his sofa. He's been... way too sweet to me._

He glanced around the room while he properly came to. Everything was in order - at least, from what he recalled before nodding off - apart from the addition of a pile of fabric on a chair in front of him. There was some paper on top, with some incredibly neat handwriting on it. His curiosity practically forced him to read it.

' _Some dry clothes that should appeal to your 'look', I should hope! - Azira_ '

Absolutely too fucking sweet.

After arguing with himself as to whether he should take up Azira's offer, and then checking that the other man was not, in fact, anywhere in the room so that he could see Anthony (though, really, he wasn't sure if he'd complain if Azira _was_ there), he divulged himself of his clothing and put on the spare garments, drying himself with one of the sofa towels as he went.

The shirt and the jeans were a bit loose, but what could be expected when the _Angel_ was on the thicker side and Anthony was his rail-thin self? Besides, they were comfy - Azira had apparently managed to find the perfect balance between comfort and appearance with his clothing - and Anthony had a belt, so it was no big issue. And they were warm, too, even if it was just in comparison to his soaked clothes beforehand. And on top of that, most importantly, Azira's judgement had been spot-on. The outfit looked _good_ on him, as far as he could see without a decent mirror around, at least, even if it was off from the Anthony J. Crowley brand by a few degrees.

Was it too soon for him to be feeling a flutter of excitement at wearing those clothes, like a teenager in a boyfriend's stolen hoodie? Was it too soon to even be wearing them? Should he have ignored the offered change of clothes, even with the chill of the rain settling into his skin? Was it ridiculous, already harbouring a bit of a crush on Azira? Could said slight crush be attributed to his smack to the head?

...Was he overthinking things?

He shoved every single one of those thoughts aside and made a mental plan, heading to the front of the bookshop. Get out there, thank Azira, go home, give the borrowed clothes a clean and bring them back ASAP, then maybe...

The formulation of his plan was interrupted when the Angel entered his line of sight.

He became sure, at that moment, that the head injury had nothing to do with anything - with his head clear now, seeing Azira smile sweetly at a customer on their way out, he was still of the opinion that he was gorgeous. And that wasn't even to mention how ridiculously nice he'd been to Anthony. Yeah, he had a crush, and not for no good reason.

Anthony only noticed that he'd been staring when Azira noticed him off to the side and perked up.

"Oh! You're awake!" he exclaimed, still wearing his smile and heading over to Anthony, looking him up and down for a second. "I see you found the things I set out for you - I must say, they look even better on you than I'd hoped! Did you have a good sleep?"

Anthony felt himself blush under the attention. "Uh, yeah, great, thanks."

"Are you feeling any better? I know from experience the wonders that a decent nap can do, sometimes."

"Still hurts somewhat," he responded, touching the bump and wincing at the resulting pain as if to prove it. "But much better, yeah. So, hey, uh, I guess I should probably get going - I don't wanna take up any more of your time, and I think I should be good to drive now, so... thanks for everything. I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Oh, absolutely not." Azira objected. His words confused Anthony for a second, before he continued: "No, as much as you do seem to be doing better, I couldn't live with myself if I let you drive off now and something awful happened to you."

"So, what, you're... keeping me here?" Well, Anthony couldn't complain too much about that.

"Heavens, no! I know I've already imposed on you enough, I'm certainly not going to go _that_ far. I was just thinking - is there somebody we could call to accompany you home?"

Anthony knew he couldn't win an argument with the other man, and so he thought for a moment. There was one person he could maybe trust with driving him back in his car.

"Well... Bee should have gotten off work by now, I think... And they shouldn't be too far away, either." He checked his watch, then looked back at Azira. "Yeah, let's go for them."

"Wonderful! Would you like to call them yourself, or shall I?"

Anthony waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, don't worry, I'm on it."

"Perfect!" Azira said, clasping his hands together. "Well then, you get on that, and I'll put the kettle on while we wait."

* * *

It didn't take too long for Bee to arrive after Anthony had called them and explained the situation. Just long enough for a cup of tea and a chat. Azira didn't know why, but he'd expected them to be taller. And not so scruffy. But he wasn't judging - he was just glad Anthony had a friend who cared enough to make sure he was safe in getting home.

"Alright," they'd said as they walked into the shop. "Where's the bastard with the cracked skull, then?"

"Bee! Good to see you!" Anthony called back. "It's not cracked, though, 's not _that_ bad. Would've called someone more capable if it was."

"Aw. Shame." Bee said with a chuckle, then gestured to Azira. "This the guy who helped you?"

"Sure is."

"Azira Fell." Azira greeted happily. "And you're Bee, yes? It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah. Likewise. Anyway, I'm gonna go get in the car. Come on out when you're done talking to your, uh... new friend. No rush."

Anthony nodded. "Yeah, sure thing. See you in a mo."

Bee left, and Anthony looked back at Azira.

"Hey, so... thanks again. Like, a whole lot. You really didn't have to do all this for me, you know. I appreciate it."

"Nonsense. After all, what kind of _angel_ would I be if I didn't intervene after you'd hurt yourself, eh?" Azira giggled. "Even if I _was_ going outside to admonish you for your parking."

"Heh, yeah, I suppose. But really, I wanna pay you back for helping me out."

Azira's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, no, my dear fellow, I couldn't let you do that, I was just doing what I felt was right!"

"Yeah, and so am I. Look, just let me do this." Anthony went quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. "Hmm... hey, you said you were a bit of a foodie, right? What about I get you lunch sometime? Wherever you want, my treat."

Azira considered the offer, ignoring the part of his brain that screamed ' _He's asking you out on a date!_ ' and smiling once more at Anthony. "Ah, alright, if you insist. Lunch sounds positively fantastic."

"Oh! Great! Here, let me give you my number, and then you give me yours, and we can set this up whenever."

And then - after some surprise from Anthony that Azira only had a landline, and no mobile phone - they did, in just enough time to hear a particularly loud honk of a car outside as they finished.

"Y'know," Anthony said, putting his phone in a pocket on his borrowed jacket and taking a look out of the window, at his car, currently occupied by Bee. "I can't believe the car hasn't been ticketed or anything yet. You'd think it'd be, it's been long enough."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose no-one's noticed yet. Or perhaps the rain deterred anyone from stopping beside it for too long. Miraculous, isn't it?"

"A miracle from my guardian angel?" he asked with a smirk, looking back at Azira.

Azira couldn't repress his chuckle at that. "Oh, that it were true, dear. My _powers_ don't extend that far."

Bee honked the car horn harshly again, and Anthony rolled his eyes.

"' _No rush_ ', they say. ' _No rush_ ', my arse. Honestly."

"It seems as though you're wanted outside."

"Yeah, I'd better get out there before Bee starts taking out their frustrations on the car. I'll, uh... see you later then?"

"Indeed - I'll see you soon, Anthony."

Anthony turned and left after grabbing his things, and the pair exchanged waves and bright smiles as he exited through the door.

Azira's smile would linger for the rest of the afternoon. He couldn't wait for that lunch with Anthony.

* * *

"Took you long enough." Bee chided as Anthony (strangely, uncomfortably) climbed into the passenger's seat of the car. "Finally dragged yourself away from that stuffy old bookshop?"

Anthony scowled at his friend as he strapped on his seatbelt. "Shut up, Bee, it's nice in there."

Bee leaned forward onto the steering wheel, smirking, pondering the aggrieved tone Anthony had taken. "...You think he's fit, don't you?" they teased.

" _Shut up_." Anthony groaned. He took out a spare set of sunglasses he kept in the glove box and put them on, feeling blood rushing to his face again. "Maybe. Shut up."

Bee let out a laugh. "You _do_. I heard you call him 'Angel' on the phone, you can't pull the wool over _my_ eyes."

"Ugh, _fine_ , yes, I think he's 'fit'. Now are you gonna shut it and drive the damn car or what?"

"...You gonna ask him out?"

"Yes? No? Maybe? I think I already did?"

Bee looked intrigued. "Oh yeah?"

"I mean, I invited him out for a meal... Do you think that counts?"

Bee's smirk returned, and they started the car. "Well... it's a start."

_A start._

Lunch with Azira couldn't come soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's the link to the zine again](https://celestialharmonies.webnode.com/past-issues/)!  
> Aaand [come yell at me on tumblr](https://lollyholly99.tumblr.com/)! Or [here's my gomens discord server](https://discord.gg/eswJ24N)!


End file.
